VOLUME 2

(c) Neil D’Silva

Wine

For shuck’s sake, why didn’t I stop at the third glass?

They pushed me into it; it was not my fault. And where are they now? Friends, a-holes, all the same.

Screw them. I can make this walk home on my own.

Good I walked. Good I dumped the car back there. Where but? Can’t remember. I told you I was woozy.

It’s okay. I just need to remember. Pavement, pavement, pavement. Easy!

Gosh! What’s that? Need to clear this vision, dang these streetlights.

Is that an accident? An ACCIDENT?

The car’s banged clean into the tree. The poor sod who was in it… he’ll be a pulp. I must go and see. Need to see. Maybe I can save him.

“Hey mister, hey! Are you all right?”

Why does he look familiar?

Sheesh! His face is pretty smashed. But–

Isn’t this my car? And… and… why does he have my face?

---

Cuddles

As Sapna lay on her bed sleeping, she felt her baby snuggle close to her. Stirring in her sleep, she took the little arm in her hand.

“Ananya,” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Not sleepy, baby?”

But the child only put her other arm on her mother’s belly. Sapna took that one in her other hand.

“What games are you up to, Ana? Go back to sleep!”

But then, another arm – a third arm – clamped itself on her belly.

Gasping a gallon of air and not sure whether she shrieked or not, Sapna sat right up in bed, her eyes wide open now.

It was all empty. An empty room, an empty bed, as it had been a lot lately.

And amidst that terror-stricken heaving, she saw the photo of her baby on the wall, which she had been been garlanding since the past one year.

---

Grim

“The baby is crying, Adrian” yelled Susan, her hands immersed in the dishes. “Can’t you for once go upstairs and check?”

She resumed scrubbing the nasty spot on the saucepan and kept it to dry. Then she looked into the child monitor again. Little Scot was in his father’s arms now, staring over his shoulder right into the camera. Susan smiled back, knowing that the baby couldn’t see her, and yet she thought he smiled back.

Three minutes later, she heard the footsteps going upstairs. “Such an idiot I am,” Adrian was saying. “Got so engrossed in the chat. Going upstairs now.”

At that, Susan turned sharply at the monitor.

With eyes round as marbles, she saw the shadow holding the scythe over the mewling baby, and screamed.

---

Threes

I was driving along the highway in the dead of the night, but a STOP sign slowed me down. Two cops came along, looking as though hell had messed them up.

“Don’t go ahead,” one of them said.

“Why?” I asked. “I am a doctor. There’s an emergency.”

The other cop came ahead. “Dark as death ahead.”

“It’s okay,” I smiled and revving my car. “I treat death.”

But I had hardly driven for a minute when I had to pull my car to an abrupt stop. A branch of a banyan tree jutted onto the road and from it hung two human shapes. Scared witless, I coasted my car along and saw – they were the policemen I had seen not a moment ago, their chests ripped apart, their intestines hanging out.

From behind me, a mellow feminine voice hissed, “There’s space on the tree for a third.”

---

Wish

Malaika took her ring off and flung it on the bathroom floor. Then she disrobed and looked in the mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The tears had streamed her kohl all over her cheeks.

“Why?” she said aloud between sobs. “Why did I trust that cheat?”

She moved her hand over her belly. It would begin showing any day now.

With shut eyes, she said, “I don’t want to live. You hear me? God? Devil? Whoever it is out there? I don’t want to live.”

Still crying, she turned the shower faucet on.

The cold water drops revived her for an instant. But only an instant.

For then she saw, in utmost horror, the strings of red meandering with the water towards the drain.

Her eyes went up to the showerhead. The water drops from the jet had turned into glass needles, thousands of tiny ones, and they were now shooting right into her soft flesh. The pain became alive now, but it was too late.

The last thing on her mind as the glass drops punctured her eyes were some ominous words of long ago:

Be careful of what you wish for.
Someone is always listening.

 

Go back to Volume 1.

New volumes every Sunday.

 

This pinnacle, this pedestal, this face

Isn’t this my rightful place?

The superstar hovered above all, the crowds by his feet, the open sky above him. This was the moment he had lived for. This was for what he had endured all those difficult times of trying to make people believe in him, of trying to win the love and compassion of these people. Now, at this moment of his grand performance, he stayed silent, taking it all in.

Even through his tired eyes, he could see the crowds. They were all over the place. Every inch of the open ground was covered with them. Children sat on their fathers’ shoulders to get a better view. Women stood at the fringes of the crowd, trying to absorb every glimpse they got of the superstar. Young men climbed on whatever they could—rocks, rooftops, trees—to see the man they had come to see.

However, what made the superstar feel deeply contented within was that this was not a passive crowd. Many of these spectators were cheering him on, whistling and hooting and applauding. There were many that were even booing him too, wanting him out of the stage. But, he did not mind that—he accepted that no one could have universal appeal. The thing that pleased him, though, was that they were all chanting his name. Every child knew him now. Every household spoke of him. His name was on the lips of the poorest beggar and the richest master. People could ignore him, but they could never forget him.

The difficult struggle had begun to bear fruit several days ago. People who spoke highly of him spread his name. The word-of-mouth brought more people to witness his performance. He was new and his art was something that had never been seen before, but he stayed undeterred; he knew this was what he was born for. He was made to influence and inspire these audiences. He thought of his early boyhood days laboring away with his father in a shed, and he thought how right he was to give that up and pursue his mission. The laborer’s life was not meant for him.

The journey hadn’t been easy though. He had competitors and some archrivals. At every step, he met with temptations to give up his practice—temptations of riches and power. But this was the only thing he believed in. He shunned the temptation with great passion, stayed truthful to his performance.

It had borne fruit too. Just the previous day, he met the King. At that time, he felt as though this meeting was fated to happen; it was in his stars. The head of state was impressed by him. Though he was the leader of this part of the world, he did not look upon him as a superior meeting an inferior, but they met as two equals. Thousands of people lined up to hear their conversation. The superstar met the King with his head held high, and fielded all his questions with poise.

After that meeting, the crowd chanted his name all the more louder. They just could not get enough of him.

Walking up to this grand stage wasn’t easy either. The security detail had been lacking, but that was part of the plan. It was so that the crowd could get close to him, and they did. They even tore his clothes and distributed it among themselves, but he did not mind that. They would get his body anyway. He was all for giving up his body to his cheering fans. He was making history.

The afternoon clouds were gathering now, and it was the time for his final performance.

Hovering there, almost naked, higher than everyone else, he thought of the accomplishment of his three-decade long journey. Now, it would be just three more days and his detractors would be silenced. For generations. And for that, he did not mind the crucifixion at the cross between two robbers.

He knew he would rise again in three days. His rising would restore the faith in the world.

END